Familiar Patterns
by Black-Emperess
Summary: Sometime's things happen to teach us a lesson. The question is, who are the ones instructing the students? Will people ever learn that their actions have dire concequences? Or will they continue down the dangerous path to oblivion?    Sebastian x OC


Ch1 To Forge a Bond of Servitude

Faggot also mean potato, idiot.

The day a bitch stole Christmas (patent pending! XP suckah's)

_**I'm putting this out right now; I **__**hate**__** season 2 of kuroshitsuji and in doing so I refuse to acknowledge that shame of a sequel! It sucked big donkey balls! *shrieks* even baka agrees! So anyone who asks why I have completely blanked those people in it, the answers quite simple-they're crap! The only ones I actually liked were the triplets and that was it. Ugh.**_

_**ok, just so people can get a clear image of the cat I'm trying to describe-its basically the long haired Maine Coon, the ginger one as well. I'll provide a picture soon, but not right now. I also tried to figure out the layout of the kitchen-from the manga. I was lead to believe it was positioned below ground, sort of like a basement flat with windows at ground level and was quite spacious. Looking at the anime (1st season) it seems to be more of a back room area and smaller. So i'm mixing the two. Bare with and please try to enjoy the story. There IS a reason it is how its laid out.**_

_**This story is dedicated to my bud Baka Chan! Keep on rockin' my Sebastian loving friend! Sorry for the major delay.**_

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It was foolhardy of me to marry out of monetary want. His charms had lulled me into his embrace, and therefore, my doom.

He disliked animals intensely, only if they were hunting dogs or great hulking horses upon which he could chase his prey-a wayward fox most likely, and he would sound up a triumphant boom of laughter and spur on the ugly little hounds he and his beastly comrades had raised for the hunt and the kill. Their booming, shrill barks tearing at the silence of the wood like a house falling from it's seams. I hate the hunt. I hate the dogs. I hate my husband.

It is my duty to prepare his meals, fetch him his paper, ensure the decanters are always stocked with the alcohol he so favors. And if he wanted to partake of my flesh, then who am I, his pretty little wife, to deny him. For I know the consequences of rejecting him are far worse than his harsh grasp and savage love making. Part of me is glad that I have not yet conceived a child, but in time I know this will change, and I dread the mannerisms the enfant may engender. If I birth him a boy, he will take him and raise him to be a beast just like his father. If I bore a girl, she will be tyrannized by my husband who will ensure she remains a submissive young lady before passing her on like a bargaining chip to gain more status and power in society.

If anything were to displease him, then I would incur his wrath. I hate him more than anyone could ever know, and I never speak of it, for surely any living body would betray me to that monster and I would suffer ever more at his hands.

It was while I was out walking in the woodland garden that I espied the little cocker spaniel. It's tiny dome shaped head and floppy ears endeared my instantly as it peered out from the thick of the rose bush. Curling my frock to accommodate my movement, I hold out a gloveless hand to the little pup. He shuffles forward from the underbrush, little stubby tail wagging back and forth while he held his head low, tongue lapping between by fingers affectionately. It must not have been pleasant for the gloves weren't exactly the most pleasant feeling things.

In his sweet little brown eyes I saw the love and adoration my husband never gave me. Perhaps that was why I took the sweet little creature home with me.

I erred, I erred terribly. In my unthinking decision to bring the animal home, I had brought him under the same oppression I myself was restrained beneath. Little Charles was struck with the leather strap in the raging mans hand and a sharp yelp was accompanied by my horrified cry. My husband, wild eyes, pasty faced, turned to me with that same mad look in his eyes and snarled at me like a wild animal, "You bring this useless thing into my household and do not make my supper? Useless woman!" his free hand strikes my shoulder, sending me against the wall. Still he advances, strap in hand, ready to crown it over my head-until a joyful tinkle from the door alerts him to our guests.

He gives me a look that says I shall pay much more heavy a penalty later. For now, I must paste a smile on my face and greet the guests my odious husband has invited over. He storms from the room, muttering that I had better make myself more presentable.

Snatching the whimpering pup cowering under one of the wooden seats, I flee the kitchen, and hurry away to my dressing chamber. The mirror, long and angled and shaped like a scalloped shell reflects my tear stained visage. The pallor of my skin worried me once, but no more. Now it was seemingly normal. Seating myself at the table, I set about easing Charles' fear, petting and reassuring him and providing the appropriate noises. It works, if only just. He seemed a little livelier when I pressed a kiss to his furred skull and placed him upon the cushioned seat, "If only he would just die." I murmur to myself, missing the fixed stare that Charles placed upon me.

It was difficult for me to admit that I am afraid of my husband, and I certainly am not strong enough to stand up to him. But what can I do? My family would not hear a word spoken against Giles and he was the one in control of the money-_my_ money. There was no one I could contact, the officers would do nothing, and there was no one I could go to. At least, not quick enough. If I were to contact someone Giles would know. Somehow, someway, he would know.

It is then that I realize that I am a prisoner in my home with no hopes of escape.

= = Giles = =

It was a game he liked to play. Ruling his castle through fear and dishing out a damn good punishment even if there was no transgression to punish the woman for. He had been going easy on her lately, he wanted her to be quiet, and obey his every command, alas she was a hopeless case. Either she cooked the food incorrectly, or did not dress in the fine clothing he had purchased for her or she simply disappointed him in some fashion. But this time, she had pressed upon his good nature too much; to bring such a worthless animal into his home and expect to escape without punishment-unforgivable.

The aforementioned woman entered the dining room, greeted by the tuts and whistles and words of appreciation for the full length gown of white that she had donned for this evenings festivities. A stab at him perhaps? White was the color of innocence was it not? Was this her way of getting a point across to him? She seated herself to his right at the table and produced her sewing, the smell of cigar smoke thick on the air, but the delayed dinner would soon be served and would overcome the intoxicating aroma that ignited his senses.

Perhaps he was looking at this the wrong way. Punishing _her_ was getting him nowhere. Perhaps he'd allow his little hounds the pleasure of ripping the little bastard to pieces. Yes, it seemed a fitting punishment for both dog and wife.

He cast a sickly sweet smile at the woman, who, in turn paled and ducked her head to concentrate on the sewing she was busying herself with.

The smell was thick, yet runny at the same time. I can taste the coppery taint on my own tongue as the screaming becomes a repulsive gurgling. Fear grips my chest, and my body refuses to move as the furred hounds wrenched bloody chunks from my husband, his cries wrenching at the air. I find that my legs do not move no matter what limp command I give them. My body breaks out into terrible shudders as I watch the magnificent beasts make a meal of the damnable bastard I call my husband.

And there, sitting upon the mound of bracken, is my little Charles. The tiny pup staring down with glittering brown eyes filled with more intelligence than an animal should have. I have made a grave mistake, and I now fear for my immortal soul.

The smell of honey and various spices intermixed with perfumes too sweet to put a name to swarmed up her nose and assaulted the organ there. Brought back to reality, there was a sense of accomplishment in the small body that shifted through the gay masse.

She smiled to herself. How long ago was that? Impossibly long, perhaps. But, no matter. She was weighed in the here and the now; and right now, she had a task to carry out. What she perceived before her was a ballroom fit for a king, the people would later say. But the scene was set for a different kind of 'celebration'. Marble staircases and pedestals of the same white stone threaded through with grey veins like blue cheese adorned the vast ballroom. the gilded vases held supple necked lilies and beautiful gold thread that were tied in overdramatic bows. The gleaming floor was of a similar gold color, with interspersed ivory to bring a sense of whimsy to the guests, not that they noticed.

Food was set out on steaming platters and champagne flowed like the river Ganges. Perhaps that was why the revelers were so merry-intoxication made people behave in such strange and unpredictable ways. Some would be moved to tears, laughter would be brought out instantly and fury would explode from within them like cannon fire under a war strewn country. Yet their drunken gayity did not cease nor slow its impending chaos.

The woman cloaked in grey, brushed aside the hood to reveal pale hair the color of burnished gold tied in a simple bun with the shorter locks free to dangle at the side of her face. Any who glanced at her would see the beauty in her pale features, her rosy cheeks and bee stung lips of pink. But her eyes were the color of forest brown, with hidden depths and hidden truths. It was in her child-like beauty that others were drawn to her, the delicate frame, the spindly arms and long fingers clasped at the cloak closer to herself as she squinted at the crowd.

Their voices crescendo to almost painful proportions earning a wince from the girl who concealed herself near a pedestal that was planted between the staircase and the long trailing red drape that was used to emphasize the pomposity of the gathering. Two old biddies stood not far from her, a few feet to be sure-the girl had counted. Their conversation lacked true substance which wasn't surprising. Anyone who was high on the social ladder tended to be filled to the brim with nothing but hot air.

Bragging was all they were good at. That and gossiping.

"Did you hear? Lady Knox apparently purchased a mink stole and found that it was ferret fur. She had the merchant arrested for misrepresenting his merchandise. Funny world isn't it?" the _fwick fwick fwick_ came from the constant fanning the old lady did with her hand held fan. It's emerald and white color-scheme matched the otherwise lively decor of the owner whose grey hair was tied up in a stiff bun and pinned there with a clutch of flowers that had taken forever to secure. Her companion wasn't much better with her own opting for a yellow and blue monstrosity that only emphasized her rotund shape.

"Certainly, I would have had him shot. Such deception should be punished accordingly-and I find that mink fur is rather _coarse_. The shop on the end of Bright and Son's street has this beautiful white furred coat made from arctic fox. It's the softest thing I have ever felt. I bought two of course. One for myself and Delilah for her birthday." the sweat that beaded upon her brow was not from heat but from the inability to drew in a full breath of air. The corset she wore was a little _too_ snug for her liking, but every woman had to sacrifice comfort for the guise of beauty-though it had already given up on her and skipped to younger, more virile women.

The other, older woman clad in green, nodded with a frightful look upon her face. The tasseled fans flickering in front of the wrinkly old faces in order for them to speak in such low tones without being detected by the other revelers worked overtime, "I have heard that he has taken the chastity of one of his maids."

"Frightful thing to do, even to a lower born." the more colorful one stated. Her bejeweled fan winking in the candlelight like a beacon on a light box. To don such ornate, over-priced garments, then pinning various glittering jewels that the earth gave birth to inside its womb-like flesh, only served to cheapen the people's appearance. But try to convince them of this and they would merely huff and demand that the insult be retracted.

The phantoms of her childhood, twisted, grotesque things that scurried back and forth inside her dreams, speaking to her in such low scratchy tones that sometimes hurt her hearing were whispering again. Her time had come, _their_ time had come. Vengeance was not a good thing, but it certainly engendered good feelings within the one bestowing it. To pretend that she no longer felt a pang at the sight of the roguish man with his glinting side-locks of jet, would be a lie to both the reader and the one in question; but the purpose of her attendance, their purpose for inviting her, was not forgotten.

The happy newlywed couple, were already gliding into the sparkling room of champagne yellow, with grand red furnishings and twinkling chandelier's. They were ushered in on a cloud of applause and cheering, the blushing bride clad in an ivory dress that was three times her size and the grinning groom was clad in immaculate black that complimented his every shape and size. The blood red rose pinned to his lapel brought the only form of color to his black collared choice of attire and it was quite fitting for what was to come.

But no amount of clothing, no amount of make up could disguise them for what they were; A harlot and a murderer. Their gains were ill gotten, and the things they had done, the crimes they had committed had to be put right. She was under contract to do this. Those insipid slate colored eyes narrowed instinctively at the couple who took pride of place at the banquet table. The smiles of all around them, clearly helped by the sheer volume of spirits that still stank up the room and clung their breath like a leech, were more indulgent than before. The cheering slowed down to a slight collective rumbling that allowed people to finally think and hold a proper conversation that would not be so easily interrupted by drunken stupidity.

The unknown guest spoke up for the first time and hailed the old ladies from their own little conversation, "They are an exceptional couple, do you not agree, Bertha?"

As if noticing her for the first time, the ornate elders glanced at the strange girl before them with eyes glittering with evident curiosity. The child like girl, so nymph like in her appearance had not doffed her cloak at the door and they wondered if she were an uninvited guest to this little celebration. Whether she was or not, wasn't of much interest to them; who she was and where she came from tickled their fancy. How did she know Bertha's name however?

"They are. Forgive me but, what is your name, dear?"

The smile that lit her features, was both secretive and gentle, "I am someone who is neither here nor there. I am here only on a whim. But you may call me Melody." 'Melody' glanced at the two trilling old biddies and felt the urge to correct them for their negativity on animals. Failing to act upon the impulse, she cast her eyes out once more at the glowing pair who were still waving and smiling and generally greeting the guests-pity. It was time.

Everyone took their places, each one giggling or chuckling at their luck at having snagged an invite to such an illustrious celebration, one that would be talked about for weeks to come. Alas, they did not know that it would be for all the wrong reasons.

Melody stood free from the flock, her pretty little off grey cloak falling from her arms to reveal the ivory pale skin and the even more unforgiving lips a strange shade of blue parted in a laugh so soft and beguiling that they all fell into immediate silence.

Holding the delicate glass flute with the bubbling amber liquid high in a salute, the people quieted and the newlywed couple's attention flit to the one who was about to toast their good health. Melody smiled at the congregation, the fury she had once felt, solidified and stopped dead, like water that had been frozen in place, ready for any fool who dared step on it; 'Melody' was the instrument of vengeance. She would be the one to right the wrongs of the people who had knowingly destroyed lives and desecrated the alter of sanity. It was time to collect, "Fly to a place where 'forever' begins; and may that world hold only pleasantness and good things. For in your hearts lay the dreams of the way things once where. May your hard work, dedication and actions bring upon you all the things that you both truly deserve. Carpe Jugulum." the knife she had hidden in the folds of her cloak, came down on the man nearest her, and became lodged in the flesh of his throat. His eyes bulged in disbelief, his hands coming up to feel the handle of the object obstructing his breathing passage only to dislodge it-a spurt of red.

Silence.

Then the screaming ensued.

_~ ~Elsewhere ~ ~_

The morning was quite slow, given that he had no master to attend to. The result of which left the servant without anything to do other than poke at various apparatus in the kitchen, leer at the foodstuffs and smoke. It wasn't such a bad thing, but at the same time, doing nothing like this was beginning to work his last nerve. Normally the idea of time off would fill him with elation, but the master would be away for a few days at least, and that thought filled him with nothing but worry.

These constant comings and goings were becoming more frequent. The nature of these absences weighed down on his mind, not knowing was intolerable but he believed full well that if it were important enough, the master would tell them. Seeing as he didn't, the man servant did not complain. Instead, he hoped and prayed that the niggling suspicion of trouble on the near horizon would be all for nothing; after all, two servants had gone with the master, so nothing could possibly go wrong.

Lifting one of the brass pots free from a bunch of leafy vegetables, the man squinted at the brassy copper colored pot, his reflection grimaced back at him in a stretched out way. Marigold hair cropped short due to his previous employment, barely showed up its color in the orange fire of the metal, while his teal colored eyes, engorged on the reflected image, stared back with the same bored expression.

The kitchen wasn't very colorful, not unless the food was out, but the off eggshell colored walls, stained by the many troublesome experiments he had concocted seemed even more unwelcoming. The windows were too high up for him to gaze outside at the garden, so there wasn't much color provided to stimulate his already slowing interest. But he loved how vegetables and meat seemed to brighten the place up. Like cabaret dancers with their thick bushy skirts and colorful plumed hats and stockings of black.

His grasp on the brass pots handle tightened; what Bard wouldn't give to play patty cake with one of those buxom lasses. But being in the back ass of nowhere made it pretty damn difficult to go in and meet some lovely ladies over a warm mug of beer. Even at that, the master and Sebastian wouldn't approve anyway. The last warning he was given along with the other servants still rang dutifully in his ears.

_**Don't break **__**anything**__**. In fact; do not touch a thing while we are away. See to your own needs and ensure the mansion does not fall into a total state of disrepair.**_

Nonsensical gibberish. What kind of servants were they if they had been told by the head butler _not_ to do their bloody chores? They had jobs to do, but being the chef he had no one to cook for other than himself and the three other servants. If only there was a way to create a more relaxed atmosphere, a friendlier one that would encapsulate all their hard work and joy into a fine meal that evening.

_Thump-thump!_

A delicate sound, came from the very narrow window beside the shelving unit containing the various herbs and spices in cylindrical containers. The criss crossing latticed windows showed two large animals sitting n the windowsill outside. A two tone ginger and another with innumerable colors. Two large cats peered in through the window at the Chef who quickly abandoned his pot gazing to face them.

What they wanted was simple, strange how he had given them 'that' on a spur of the moment madness and ever since they kept returning to him as if they had some unspoken agreement to meet at the kitchen every day. He couldn't help smiling at their great furred faces peering in at him. None of the other cats were as brazen as these two, and somehow, he felt better for it-imagine having a legion of cats yowling for a bowl of milk every day. Madness and panic would ensue-not to mention that their master whose allergies were bad in regard to these felines would kick up a huge stink.

Long, sleek, but impossibly furry-like an extravagant furred coat that any would be baroness would pay insane amounts of gold and jewels to obtain. The numerous colors of brown, tinted with honey colored tones that shifted and mated with the others to produce new and more fascinating displays of color painted all over the silky mane and body. A long basil brush tail wavered behind the body, standing upright as if it were a fanfare preceding a Queen and announced to all that royalty was in their midst. Right now, the tip twitched to and fro in an impatient and excited gesture as the curved face and cheek brushed up against the window pane, the mewing growing louder and more incessant.

Bards soft laugh caused their ears to twitch and hone in on him. Somehow, their presence had reinstated that burning drive to perform to the best of his abilities. No more moping, only action would do! Brushing off his hands, the man circled the tables and disappeared into the pantry to fetch something out of storage.

She sat on the windowsill on the ground level kitchen, peering in now and again, giving the same gentle mew of greeting to the chef Bard, while also urging him to quicken his pace. Her large fluffy tail twitched back and forth on occasion, but usually remained immobile, hanging down like a limp bookmark. That imperious head turned left and right to watch him move from the countertop to the cupboard where the vegetables were stored. A single paw, pink and soft, pressed against the window pane and another insistent mewl rose from her, as if she were trying to hurry him up.

Bard the chef straightened up from carrying a heavy load of potatoes from the pantry to the kitchen. She was certainly a cute little thing, impish too, which, luckily for her the cuteness negated. He wondered how many potatoes to butcher for tonight's festivities, after all, there was no way he could let down Master Ciel at a time like this, it was imperative that he get it right for his masters pride was at stake; even if said master wasn't there to enjoy the dinner. But right now, the Duchess and her consort were top priority.

Brushing his dirty calloused hands on the cusp of his smock, Bard grinned toothily at the cat who always seemed glued to the kitchen window and bent over double, arm stretching out the right while the other placed over his chest where his heart should be in a Sebastian-like bow. His comment however, shattered the illusion, "Alright, alright, gimmie a minute your highness; I need to get the saucer and milk first."

His little Duchess had a permanent companion it seemed; a ginger tabby that was twice her size and rather lazy. More often than not, he was bumping his big furry dome of a head against hers in greeting, right before starting a mewling conversation that usually escalated into a furry boxing match that Duchess often won. She happened to be the faster of the two. Nothing sent him into laughter like watching the two squabble over the last drop of milk, especially when Duchess drew back her ears flat against her head and gave Ginger the Evil Eye before a spine jangling hiss would issue from her pink maw. It reminded him of the way a woman might look at a troublesome husband who had said too much about her underwear-or perhaps mentioning some hot little body in the pub and garnered nothing more than a very angry wife who would throw him in the doghouse for daring to let his eyes stray from his mug of ale.

Bard spent his free time outside smoking with the cat's making multicolored slippers for his feet as they weaved in and out from between his legs. The promise of a small saucer of milk each made them come back often to meet the chef whose cooking ability was quite lacking. Strange was his present company; stranger still was the fact that Bard did not consider himself a cat lover. But these two were an exception. He hoped to God Pluto wouldn't eat the poor buggers-or barbecue them.

It was such a nice day, for England that is, with its grey cloudy skies and the ever present threat of rain did little to sour his quiet time. All he needed was a good smoke and good company, both of which he had. Perhaps he should have known better than to let his wonderful guard down, but let it down he did and soon as it was gone, madness ensued.

The door to his territory flew open with a snap and in marched a rather familiar face. Bedecked in muslin pants that been wrapped in an almost curious way, and a kind of waistcoat dappled red and gold, the twenty sixth prince of Bengal stood proudly in the doorway. His keen cat gold eyes scanning back and forth for some poor misfortunate to torture-in the form of a hug.

Bard, who responded on impulse, stood flabbergasted at the unannounced guest. It wasn't every day the man came swooping in to visit-well actually it _was_ a bit of a habit of Soma's to pop out of nowhere and cause havoc, but that was minor details that Bard tried very hard not to dwell on, "Ah! Soma! What are you doing here?"

A grin worked its way onto his darkly tanned face. Strange how his dark hair and skin seemed to make him warmer in appearance instead of the opposite. His disposition, though that of a crybaby, was generally that of a good hearted person who wished to help those around him. It merely seemed that his schemes backfired too often for them to work appropriately, like now for example, "I heard that the squirt went on a trip again leaving you all alone for a number of days. So Agni and I decided to pay a visit and keep everyone company! It's more fun to eat with friends than to be alone, right?"

At this expletive, Agni emerged from behind his master and smiled in much the same cheery manner, "I shall help cook the meal-if you want me to that is. Though it will be fun to cook altogether, it has been some time since we have done so." His attention was already drifting to the bag of potatoes; his eyes narrowed, fingers tensing against the palms of his hand, whereupon he pounced on the sack like a starved lion, braids flaying out in the air as he hoisted them from the ground and heaved them up onto the counter beside the sink with his previous smile in place, "I'll make a start on these."

It was strange how this man could send so many conflicting messages. One moment calm and serene, delighted at times-the next he was darting around the room like a panther ready to strike. His amazing prowess did not stop at his good nature, it added to the many good humored expressions. But when angered, he was certainly a frightening thing to behold. Agni was, to most extents, like a butler. He was a highly capable man, who knew how to up morale in the Phantomhive servants, where Sebastian did the exact opposite. He did not ridicule nor mock them for their many flaws and clumsy mistakes-which was partly why they liked him and his master so much. That and he made them feel as if they could accomplish something without messing up.

Bard's thoughts wandered to dinner; Mash potatoes and chicken and vegetables sounded great. All of which were a delectable combination when lathered with gravy or cranberry sauce or some other savory tasting liquid. Maybe a little beer could help wash it all down.

Soma, whose attention span resembled that of a goldfish, had already run off to locate Finny and Maylene. His reason for doing so possibly came the need to wrangle them in to the whole process of preparing and cooking their afternoon meal. A team effort was a fun effort. And he so loved to hear the banter the group delved into which usually had some crazy scheme to make their master happy.

With no interruption, Bard continued with his earlier train of thought; Agni was a tall man, taller than even Bard himself, with close cut hair of snowy white with only two long braids on the right hand side from just behind his ear. The tiny beads caught and held the light, flickering it back gently, while the brown skin seemed to glow with inner health. Even his eyes, which were a calm stormy gray, were busy appraising each potato he collected from the sack and dropped into the sink. Tall, broad shouldered, undoubtedly muscular-Agni was a very impressive guy.

Sensing that they had been forgotten, the pair of cats slunk into the kitchen, their paws moving lightly across the floor as they remained ever vigilante for any possible negative responses from the two men. Neither noticed them at first, so while Duchess weaved her way between the legs of the table, Tom padded from one corner to the other, always trying to keep a safe distance between himself and the newcomer. Such hesitation was unnecessary, for as soon as Duchess found the barrel that Bard usually sat upon and hopped up onto it, Agni's attention was drawn to the animal.

It was not necessarily _how_ the multihued brown cat looked at him, but the **way** she looked at him. Her eyes the color of emeralds, glassy and round, watched him through half closed eyes. The large brush of a tail swept from left to right before curling around her dainty paws.

'_how regal-_' he thought to himself, _'Cats always do know to carry themselves with air of elegance. Much like a king or queen on their splendid thrones.' _The ginger colored one whose sheer size surprised the man slunk out from its corner and cuddled up against Bard's leg. This one looked like a miniature Bengal tiger loping through the kitchen. Agni smiled at the cats. They were certainly impressive, with their long haired coats of fur, and imperious glances as if they wanted to ask _and who might __**you**__ be?_, "Are these cats wild or tame?"

"Hm?" the ex-soldier glanced at the two animals who seemed to be waiting for his answer. A rather unnerving thing to be sure, "Dunno, tame I guess seeing as they never give me any grief." Bard leaned down to tickle Tom's head, and immediately he took up a steady _rrr-rr-rrr_ noise that sent pleasant vibrations up the man's palm to tickle his nervous system.

The dark skinned man knelt down and coaxed the animals closer with an extended hand. He brushed his bandaged fingers over the young females fur while doing the same for the other with his other hand. The silky feeling that rippled beneath his one exposed hand sent pleasant signals up and down his nervous system, which brightened his smile considerably, "I wasn't certain. I've seen other cat's roaming the estate, but they were all short-hairs. So I assumed that these two were pets of young master Ciel."

"Uh...well actually, Master Ciel's allergic to cats, so technically he wouldn't be able to keep any as pets. Besides, I think he's more of a dog person."

The sun was setting. The fiery red that pressed its way across the sky made that obvious. There was a saying about those kinds of things; Red Sky at night shepherds delight. Red Sky at morning shepherds warning. The man witnessing the red sky, didn't know where the saying came from, nor why it was that such things occurred due to the discoloration of the sky; but he heeded such signs with respect and never doubted their warning.

Jess was a strange man. Everyone said so. No one dared to cross the young man whose eyes of amber seemed to stare at any who spoke to him like a snake eyeing its prey. They were set in a permanent squint as if he were trying to read the fine print in a contact and the youthful face he had been blessed with was presently smudged with dirt. His slender frame did not hide the bulging muscles he had developed through hard work and grafting. Digging graves was a time consuming job, as well as a fun one-especially when your boss was as corpse like in appearance as the people he helped bury.

There were rumors circulating through the ranks that there were cases of the dead rising from their graves. Jess believed it was a couple of Reapers who had decided to freak out the living for a bet. He'd chock it down to drunken stupidity, even if being drunk on duty resulted in a heavy fine. But oddly, souls had been vanishing, not just, disappearing but...just..._vanishing_ as if they had never been there. It didn't make sense and it wouldn't ever make sense to him, that a soul would just evaporate into thin air; it wasn't possible to escape his kind, they harvested those who had died for a damn reason. Having them vanish while you were about to judge them was just embarrassing. But the trend was slowly increasing and this caused him to feel a twinge of worry.

Running dirt encrusted hand through his wild shaggy mane, he released a sigh of irritation. He was one with wild, crazed hair that was comprised purely of fiery colors that jumped to life depending on how the light touched the unkempt locks. The braid he had on one side was the only part that seemed to have been tamed and the way his face scrunched up when he was pondering a rather tricky puzzle was quite comical. But at that moment, he was leaning on his shovel, butt firmly placed on the rickety stone wall that had been thrown together by previous owners of the land; most likely farmers and was busily staring out at the rolling green hills as the sun turned the sky a pleasant copper color.

"how much longer..." came the indolent mutter of an impatient lad who had quite enough work for one day. He didn't want to stick around for much longer; he wanted a bath sometime soon. The dirt and grime encrusted shirt and slacks were matched only by the mud caked into his heavy duty boots which swung back and forth restlessly, drumming out an even more impatient _rat-a-tat-tat _that he kept up for a few minutes.

The bright sunlight that had shone that day was slowly dispersed behind the curtain of the trees and suddenly, he hopped off the wall, shovel in hand, and ambled towards the large building behind him. The steps he mounted with ease, a tune whistled low through his teeth and the heavy oaken doors with dogs inlaid in the surface swung open with ease. The peaceful scene changed-gone was the calming sound of the wind rushing through grass and trees-gone was the setting sun and the vivid green of the fields around him. now, he looked upon a room of gold and red. Lots of red. It ran from the plates of the guests, dripped from the table in steady trickles and enticing drops. Pools of it gathered on the floor in specific areas. It decorated the ceiling, the walls, the drapes; the chandelier had also been coated in an almost decorative fashion.

The silence was deafening.

Only the steady _drip, drip,_ noise pattering from various places in the room provided a lovely backdrop to the scene. Throats had been torn out. Arms twisted, bodies strewn every which a way, each one in a state of perverse rigor-mortis that brought out an appreciative smile in the man. Always with such a melodramatic way of dispatching her enemies. It was always the way, but so very, very entertaining. oh well; The spade was lifted high above his head, features twisting into a rather devilish smirk, "Time to harvest our gains."

Shapes, shadows really, flit through the air, some seemingly trying to take shape, while others remained in a state of mist-like substance. Each swooped low, entwining with the guests, the shapes encapsulating the bodies of the dead. And the bodies that had once been moved with laughter and gayety, now dead, twitched and moved up from their places, each one moving in a jilted fashion, picking themselves up from the floor spilling more bodily fluids and lacking certain limbs to ease their speed some had little choice but to crawl crab-like across the floor. The real bodies, were left in place, the souls, imprinted upon the manner of their deaths stepped free from their bodies and looked around in confusion.

The night where the dead finally got to wreck havoc and cause mischief was long past. Jess had a job to do and his boss wouldn't be happy if he let these suckers escape.

* * *

_**You know, I have this image in my head of 'Duchess' and 'Tom' pressing their faces up against a window while watching Bard cook a delicious meal-their cute little paws stretched up and out against the window while they are busy salivating at the cooking meat~ What do you think Baka? Good or bad start? 6, 755 words! whoot!**_

_**The other three stories will be getting updated in the next week or two. So look forward to that my humble readers. **_


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